


one week

by dxggorylives



Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: M/M, Reconciliation, basically nico's feelings about everything and what happens directly afterwards, post-la grotto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 15:24:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16997568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dxggorylives/pseuds/dxggorylives
Summary: "You are not alone. You hear me?"





	one week

**Author's Note:**

> hi!! this is my first work in aaaaages so i'm kind of nervous to post this, but i just felt so much emotions after tonight's clip i had to get this out of my system. sob. i love these boys so much and they deserve the world.
> 
> i'm 'dxggorylives' on tumblr as well - feel free to come say hi!! or drop prompts i might or might not fill!! or just come talk to me about skam italia tbh
> 
> i hope to write some more about these boys, and fine-tune their characterisations beyond what's here - but i hope you enjoy!!

The whole encounter felt like some sort of vivid dream sequence.

The version of events Niccolò had imagined transpiring ever since he gathered up whatever reserves of courage he had left to send that text to Martino (quite the feat on his ancient little Nokia, he’d rather not think about how long it took to type it out), certainly wasn’t what had just happened.

His mind, in its usual manner when he’s in this sort of mood, buzzed with activity and anxious energy, and had been conjuring up every single possible scenario in which there would be no way on Earth Martino would ever want him. Not after... Milan. The incident that he’s simultaneously trying not to think about but at the same time can’t stop fucking going back over and over in his mind.

Not after being made to bare witness to something Niccolò never ever wanted him to.

One minute he stood alone, cold air whipping round his face, stinging his face and flushing his cheeks red as he overlooked Rome in a daze. Desperately lonely, heart heavy, like every nerve in his body was raw and exposed.

He almost managed to kid himself, asserting that of course he hadn’t sent the text expecting a reply. Or for Martino to come to him on the terrace, riding in on a giraffe ready to profess his undying love to him or anything sickeningly romantic like that. 

He just wanted so badly to explain himself and be understood; reach out to Martino because leaving things as they were and not speaking to him (being ignored by him) felt like some sort of long and sustained form of torture, leaving his stomach in knots and his heart even heavier. Which was why he’d ended up just turning his phone off. Just so he didn’t sit and stare at it, waiting for something to happen.

Just like he was now, even if he was trying to tell himself he wasn’t.

Seemingly the next minute, there Martino was, standing opposite him. No giraffe, but he wouldn’t have been able to feel more surprised than he already was if he had. 

The world suddenly snapped into focus and Niccolò drew in a shuddering breath, air catching on the emotion in his throat. Fuck, he loved Marti a lot. He’d expended so much emotional energy in putting himself down and not getting his hopes up for anything, but now that the other boy was standing right there in front of him - all bets were off, and Niccolò had no control over the anticipation and out and out hope gathering in his stomach. 

It took the sensation of Martino’s warm thumbs against his freezing cold - wet? - cheeks to realise that the tears pooling in his eyes had broke the waterline. Emotion rose in him like a tide, and suddenly he so full of hope it made him feel sick.

He just wanted to be understood, listened to, believed. Maybe even loved the way he feels love for so many people and things in this world. But particularly Marti. That was a special kind of love; the kind was exciting and unique and gave you butterflies every time you look at them.

You’re not alone. You hear me?

The words soothed him, like balm on a wound. Martino’s eyes were so soft, and shining, and adoring Niccolò couldn’t stifle the tilt of his lips towards a faint, but relieved smile. He hoped like hell Martino could see in his eyes how much he adored him, even if he had to close them for a second in order to even just slightly get his bearings. 

In the moment of adoration, he turned his head and kissed Martino’s fingers. His heart knew then it would be the first of many.

Their kisses felt healing.

The hug felt like homecoming.

Niccolò still felt raw, and exposed, and vulnerable, but Martino felt secure. He always had. Safe, warm, and comforting. The only person he’d want to be the last man on Earth with.

The bus journey back to Martino’s place wasn’t so dreamlike as the terrace was, rather, like he was suspended in some kind of parallel world where nothing felt real. On the abandoned back row of seats on the late bus back, the passage of time didn’t exist, or didn’t make sense at all. He was grounded only by Martino’s thigh pressed up against his, and his hand clutching his knee.

All Niccolò wanted right then was to be close to Marti. Crawl up in his presence and finally his first good night’s sleep in what felt like forever. Exhaustion clung to him, inescapable like a ball and chain around his ankle, and was only barely kept at bay by the adrenaline still coursing through him.

But fuck he was tired.

Niccolò lifted his head from where it had been leaning against the window and glanced quickly at Martino, immediately caught out as the other boy had already been looking at him, and gave him a tentative smile.

Marti looked tired too.

They both craved rest, and both knew their best chance for it lay with each other.

When they arrived at Martino’s, Marti was methodical in his routine: shoes and coat off, run his fingers through his windswept hair, tip-toe down the hall to the kitchen. Niccolò followed suit in silence, eyes darting round the living space, trying to absorb all there was to observe about Martino’s life. His heart yearned to learn every bit.

Marti made them tea as quietly as possible, since his mother had already gone to bed.

He brought both steaming mugs over to the table where Niccolò sat, and set the bigger one of the two in front of him.

Niccolò had been zoning out a little, overwhelmed and trying to make sense of everything in his head, despite how happy he was. But Marti’s presence caught his attention and he looked down at the mug, the unreadable expression on his face cracking like glass with a smile, and he instantly let out with small huff of laughter.

It wasn’t that funny, but it was enough. It had a picture of Kellogg’s Tony the Tiger on it, with the words “You’re gr-rr-eat, Marti!” on it. The cuteness merely caught Niccolò by surprise.

Martino rolled his eyes and smirked, blushing a little as he relaxed into the chair opposite Nico.

“Shut the fuck up! All the other mugs are dirty and I hate washing up, okay?”

Niccolò just looked at him, mischievous smile holding in place.

“I was eight, and it was a gift from my mama because I had this soft toy-” Martino started, before cutting himself off.

“No, actually, you don’t need to know the story”

The banter felt like a breath of fresh air, like Niccolò had been holding his breath under water and had finally come up for air. The light may not be back in his eyes yet, and his foundations may still feel shaky, but there was always tomorrow. And the next day. They’d silently promised each other than just over an hour before.

This was the first time Niccolò has genuinely laughed in a whole week. And that was good enough for now.


End file.
